سائليني - Ask Me [ Not Precisely ] - By Said Aql

You might say alot about Said Aql, you might call him racist, you can call him many things.. but you have to admit, There aren't many Arabic poets with his creativity and ability to 'craft'.

I remember a university professor referring to his poetry as 'Sculpting', and till now, this is the word that i think most describes his poetry.. His poems - as he made it clear in one - are like marble statues.. Fairooz sang many beautiful poems (much more than i can mention here) but I have always thought that this one specifically was miraculous [this is the word to describe a 'special' Fairooz song] ..

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Translation of the lines in bold [very poor translation]:

Ask me how, when i scented my regards,

roses became jealous, and lavenders became sick ..

Your banks rested .. in my mind,

and your birds hid .. in my thoughts and flew ..

If i had to bottle my poetry in intoxication,

you would be the flow .. and the soft laughters ..

(...)

Your people, History is what they left behind [ part of the beauty here is the exact organization of words in arabic, which is not really possible in English] ..

Their mention, is an honor, hanging on the collar of time!

(...)

I am not a lone singer if I say ...

wounds are pleasures, if with the hymns of birds ,

For me its enough .. that I come from a mountain ..

that is between god and earth , a dialogue !

[listening to the song will give you a new level of appreciation for this poem]

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سائليني
شعر: سعيد عقل غناء: فيروز ألحان: الأخوين رحباني


سائليني، حينَ عطّرْتُ السّلامْ،
كيفَ غارَ الوردُ واعتلَّ الخُزامْ

وأنا لو رُحْتُ أستَرْضي الشَّذا
لانثـنى لُبنانُ عِطْـراً يا شَـآمْ

ضفّتاكِ ارتاحَتا في خاطِـري
و احتمى طيرُكِ في الظّنِّ وَحَامْ

نُقلةٌ في الـزَّهـرِ أم عندَلَـةٌ
أنـتِ في الصَّحوِ وتصفيقُ يَمَامْ

أنا إن أودعْتُ شِعْـري سَكرَةً
كنتِ أنتِ السَّكبَ أو كُنتِ المُدامْ

ردَّ لي من صَبوتي يا بَـرَدَى

ذِكـرَياتٍ زُرْنَ في ليَّا قَــوَامْ

ليلةَ ارتـاحَ لنا الحَـورُ فلا
غُصـنٌ إلا شَـجٍ أو مُسـتهامْ

وَجِعَتْ صَفصَافـةٌ من حُزنِها
و عَرَى أغصَانَها الخُضرَ سَقامْ

تقـفُ النجمةُ عَـن دورتِـها
عنـدَ ثغـرينِ وينهارُ الظـلامْ

ظمئَ الشَّرقُ فيا شـامُ اسكُبي
واملأي الكأسَ لهُ حتّى الجَـمَام

أهـلكِ التّاريـخُ من فُضْلَتِهم
ذِكرُهم في عُروةِ الدَّهرِ وِسَـامْ

أمَـويُّـونَ، فإنْ ضِقْـتِ بهم
ألحقـوا الدُنيا بِبُسـتانِ هِشَـامْ

أنا لسـتُ الغَـرْدَ الفَـرْدَ إذا
قلتُ طاب الجرحُ في شجوِ الحمامْ

أنا حَسْـبي أنّني مِن جَـبَـلٍ
هـو بيـن الله والأرضِ كـلامْ